The flickering overhead lights buzzed like insects, casting long shadows through the abandoned lab. Shoto Todoroki stepped over a broken stretcher, steam rising faintly from his left side as residual heat rolled off his body. His breath was steady, controlled—but his heart? That was pounding. This place reeked of rust, antiseptic, and something sourer. Pain, maybe.

The raid had been meant to dismantle a villain-run lab—illegal quirk experimentation, according to the intel. Most of the rooms were empty now, cleared of resistance. But then Shoto heard it: the faint clink of chains and a low, raspy breath.

He turned a corner and saw the cage.

It was barely taller than a desk, tucked in the corner like an afterthought. Inside, huddled against the metal bars, was a boy—no older than fourteen. Shirtless, bruised, arms bound in suppressor cuffs. His eyes, bright and feral, locked onto Shoto’s with a wariness that bordered on animalistic.

“Hey,” Shoto said quietly, stepping closer but keeping his distance. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a hero.”

The boy didn’t speak. He just watched, body tense like a spring about to snap.

Shoto crouched slowly, lowering himself to the boy’s level. That’s when he saw them: long, jagged scars up and down the kid’s arms and torso. Some fresh. Others old and silvery. His knuckles were bloodied, and faint lines on the floor outside the cage told Shoto he’d tried breaking out. Over and over again.

“You’ve been here a long time,” Shoto murmured, voice low. “They hurt you.”

Still, no reply.

Then—snikt.

The sound was unmistakable. Three sharp, metallic claws shot from the boy’s knuckles, glinting under the ceiling light. Not mechanical—natural. The wounds they left behind healed instantly, skin knitting together in real time.

“Regeneration,” Shoto said under his breath. “Claws like knives. Like…”

He didn’t finish the thought.

The boy flinched when Shoto reached for the cage, so he froze.

“My name’s Shoto Todoroki,” he said. “I can freeze these cuffs off and get you out of here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

The boy’s claws stayed out, but his lip trembled. His eyes shimmered—not with rage, but something else. Hope, maybe. Or disbelief.

Then came another voice behind them.

“Shoto!” Izuku Midoriya called, panting slightly as he entered the room. He saw the cage and stopped cold. “Is that…?”

Shoto gave a sharp nod. “One of their victims.”

Izuku’s eyes softened. “We’ll take him with us. We’ll make sure he’s safe.”

Shoto turned back to the boy. “You hear that? You're not alone anymore.”